


Every Day Feels Like A Monday

by midnightdown (sailorsuga)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Bullying, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5189414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorsuga/pseuds/midnightdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they’re nineteen, Niall ruins everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Day Feels Like A Monday

**Author's Note:**

> (2010/11 Steph): Crap, this story is crap. And the writing is stupid. Because stupid inspiration decided to hit me in the middle of the fucking night and whatnot. The writing is somewhat different than how I usually write but I pray you do not hate me for this. Well okay, anyways. I’ve been wanting to write a oneshot with a McFly song for a while now because all their music gives me feels. So yeah. I use Falling in Love by them for this piece of crap. And, for anyone who reads Trigger Happy, I will be using Transylvania (my favorite song ever) by them for an upcoming chapter so yeah. Okay now stop reading this shit and read the other shit.
> 
> (2015 Steph): Yup that pretty much sums it up lol there's bullying in the story. Internalized homophobia with one of the characters. Homophobic language. I think that's it. Enjoy the crap maybe. (Also disregard the trigger happy comment lol)

_+++_

_Out of our minds and out of time_  
Wishin' I could be with you,  
And to share the view,  
We could've fallen in love

_+++_

When they’re six, Harry moves to Mullingar.

He feels like a stranger here.

He feels small amongst giants.

And he feels like a freak because when he opens his mouth and talks for the first time, everyone stares—some look confused and others disgusted—because his accent is weird and not like theirs.

And he wants to scream and shout and run away because it seems like everyone smiles and laughs and just enjoys their fucking life except him.

Because he feels out of place and unwanted and everything is coming in so close, he can’t even breathe.

And he just wants to go back to that stupid little village in Cheshire.

At least then, he could talk with someone and they wouldn’t look at him funny or ignore him.

He could try to play with someone and they wouldn’t turn up their noses and walk away.

He could make a friend there that doesn’t say mean things to him when everyone is looking.

He cries on the first day of school in the boy’s bathroom.

Because real boys don’t cry, his daddy said.

Not when you could see them, his mom told him later.

A short little boy with wide blue eyes and wild chestnut hair gives him a red crayon in art class.

When he accepts it, the boy’s face seems to light up.

He says his name is Niall Horan and he really shouts it for everyone to hear but he only stares at Harry and he still isn’t sure what it was that made him actually listen when the boy started talking.

++

When they’re seven, Niall tells Harry he’ll be his new brother.

And Harry doesn’t understand why he needs a brother, he already has a big sister.

But Niall says brothers are better.

You could play football with them and play pranks on them without getting yelled at about it and they wouldn’t give you cooties like girls could.

Harry didn’t understand what Niall was talking about.

He doesn’t know what a prank is and he doesn’t understand what “cooties” are.

He didn’t understand anything here.

But when he thought about it, having a brother sounded kind of cool.                   

So he told Niall that sounded great.

And his eyes sparkled like big blue stars when he did and Harry found himself staring.

He thought they looked like the lava lamp his dad gave him—with pretty shades of blue lava swirling and swimming around in the glass.

And Gemma told him it was old and out of style but he thought it was so amazing that he ignored her.

So Niall ran in the house and told Greg about they’re new brother.

And Harry smiled even when his tummy turned in knots.

He didn’t know why.

++

When they’re ten, Niall steals Harry’s first kiss—just for practice.

Niall’s been watching Disney Channel more often, especially the movies.

And he gives Harry classes everyday on his porch about what he’s learned—that even the losers can get the girl and you don’t have to be perfect and true love is real and all that good fairytale goodness.

And Harry nods and listens intently because Niall was always right.

So Niall tells them when they get older, they have to kiss girls—they just have to, it’s a rule.

He tells Harry they have  to be prepared and Harry nods like a soldier.

So Niall takes that as approval and presses his lips against Harry’s.

Its quick and meaningless and done less as practice and more as an experiment—to see what this was; was it a kiss; is that what you do; this is what it feels like.

And Niall scrunches his nose up in dissatisfaction.

He thinks it looked better on TV.

Harry’s mind is in la la land.

++

When they’re eleven, Niall gets Harry a cat.

Harry doesn’t know why he does it at first.

He just opens the door and he can see a short brown-haired boy; clothes covered in mud and grass stains and face slightly scratched and bleeding all the while smiling as if none of it was there and a restless cat in his arms, hissing and mewling angrily.

Niall tells Harry he didn’t have any money to buy him one.

And he knew Harry liked them.

And that his last one died in Cheshire.

So he got him a new one.

But when he tries to hand it to Harry, it sinks its teeth in Niall’s skin and he screams and it runs away into the bushes when he lets go.

Niall looks ready to cry when it doesn’t come back.

So Harry says thank you anyway and pecks him on the cheek.

He looks better then.

++

When they’re thirteen, Harry gets suspended for punching someone in the face because of something they said to Niall.

He doesn’t fight often; he never has to.

He’s not anyone special; he’s Harry Styles with the stupid curly hair and the weird English accent and the jumpy personality, who gave enough of a shit about him to fight him?

And it was fine with Harry.

But Niall wasn’t that.

Niall was his friend—his brother he guessed since Niall and Greg unofficially “adopted” him into their little family—but he wasn’t an outcast.

Niall Horan was a loudmouth.

He demanded attention and put no effort into gaining it.

Niall Horan was noticed.

He was a somebody—even if he had nobody friends.

And being a somebody got you dragged into shit.

And when that boy—Harry forgets his name, it doesn’t matter—calls Niall a fag and shoves him in the chest so hard, Niall’s eyes bug out and he almost chokes on the wind eliciting unexpectedly from his lips, Harry goes auto-pilot and attacks.

It didn’t feel good when he hit him.

It still didn’t feel good when his nose started to gush blood.

It definitely didn’t feel good when the teachers have to drag him off.

But when Niall hands him an ice pack for his black eye and wraps his arms around his neck in a silent thank you, well, he feels a lot better.

++

When they’re fourteen, Niall dyes his hair.

And the day before he told Harry he had a surprise for him with a wide smile on his face.

And Harry said nothing because he knew it’d get him nowhere, not when Niall was in one of his ‘I-know-something-you-don’t-know moods.

Then the next day at school, all his almond-colored hair was gone.

And replaced with wild golden blonde hair.

And everyone stared when he walked down the hall.

And Niall soaked it all in with a smile.

But he asked Harry what he thought when he reached his locker, with a confident grin on his face.

Harry knew he was happy to have shocked him.

That day, Harry felt knots in his stomach again.

Because Niall’s eyes looked brighter with his new hair and he looked different without the chestnut color Harry had grown accustomed to and he blamed it all on being surprised.

But he felt something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He tells Niall he looks different.

And Niall pouts at the word.

But Harry won’t tell him anything else so they go to class in silence.

Niall thinks about dying it back by the end of the day.

But Harry’s simple “no” stops that.

++

When they’re fifteen, Niall gets put in the hospital.

And Harry feels sick and angry and sad and violent but he stays quiet when he’s at the boy’s bed side, eyes to the floor and blurry with tears.

He got jumped again.

Because they call him names and they say he likes boys and they fuck with him in the middle of the hallway for everyone to see and laugh.

And Harry can’t help.

Or Niall won’t let him. Because Harry is stubborn and doesn’t know when his limits are.

Niall tells him not to anymore. Because there’s too many of them and only one of him.

So just stay out of it. He’ll be okay.

And Harry listens like he always does.

But he regrets it.

There are things he would like to tell Niall.

Things he never says when he’s awake.

Like thank you for being my only friend.

Thanks for trying to be family.

Thanks for not treating me like nobody.

I’m sorry I’m not that good a friend to you.

I’m sorry that I’m nobody.

I’m sorry that you have to waste time with me.

I’m sorry I’m not better.

I’m sorry I wasn’t there.

But he thinks if he opens his mouth, he’ll start sobbing. So he only says them in his mind.

When he touches Niall’s hand, it feels cold and he holds on tighter.

He gets let out a few days later.

He doesn’t smile anymore.

He doesn’t laugh anymore.

He looks like a ghost.

Harry doesn’t look at him.

Niall doesn’t care.

++

When they’re sixteen, Niall tells Harry to go away.

Fag and gay and homo are words that get spewed at them daily.

Gemma tells him it’s because they’re both too cute to be normal teenage boys.

Greg tells them they’re always together.

But either way, Niall doesn’t care.

Harry doesn’t know anything unless Niall tells him.

So he didn’t know that he was angry and upset and confused and hurt—because smiling is all he ever did and he couldn’t be any of those things with a grin on his face.

He was Niall.

But one day, he just says to leave him alone.

And his voice is cracking and shaking.

And he’s not smiling.

And his eyes are red and watery.

Harry wants to tell him not to cry but that isn’t what Niall wants to hear.

And Harry always does what Niall says because he’s always right.

So Niall says go away.

And he does.

But he feels something stab him, hard and sharp and twisting around sickeningly slow just to see him squirm.

But he brushes it off.

++

When they’re seventeen, they have their first physical fight.

Niall is yelling and screaming at him.

And Harry yells back because he’s finally grown up and gotten his own mind.

But he doesn’t know why he’s so angry.

But when he screams he can feel it—something—pumping in his veins strong and violent and he could feel his throat strain and he knows his knuckles are white and his eyes are watery.

But he screams.

“Just leave me the fuck alone!”

“Give me a fucking reason!”

Harry’s never cursed at Niall before.

And it feels bad and good at the same time.

Niall throws the first punch and it’s swift and quick and Harry knows for sure he learned it from Greg as he feels his jaw pop—or maybe it shattered or broke but either way, blood dripped to the floor and Harry began to see red.

Harry sees flashbacks of a thirteen-year old him; on top of that boy that called Niall a fag and throwing punches until the boy bled and ignoring the feeling of bone crushing under his knuckles in favor of teaching the boy a lesson.

And he feels like shit when he does the same thing to Niall.

And the teachers don’t drag him off this time, its Greg and Gemma.

Harry hears them screaming but he doesn’t know what they’re saying.

He feels dizzy when Niall curls up on the ground, face bloodied and his body shaking.

Harry jerks away from his sister and Greg and yanks Niall up.

He thinks he can see tears underneath the mask of blood and cerulean eyes looking up towards him.

They weren’t glaring or anything; it was empty and hollow and made Harry’s skin crawl.

Because he didn’t look like that little boy with the red crayon and the motor-mouth on his first day of school.

He didn’t even know who this guy was.

But he throws this stranger’s arm over his shoulder and hauls him to the nurse’s office.

He thinks he can hear the boy mumble a curse when he kicks the door open.

He drops him on the cot and, despite the back of his mind screaming otherwise, leaves him there.

He doesn’t look back.

++

When they’re eighteen, Niall still doesn’t talk to him.

Harry doesn’t seem to care.

Niall has new friends now and they’re loud and wild and stupid just like him.

They like alcohol and drugs and partying and sex and Harry doesn’t really care but it just wasn’t his thing.

Harry sits alone at uni and he doesn’t talk anymore.

And it’s not because he can’t, like the rumors say, he just doesn’t want to.

No one listens anyway.

Because it feels like the first day of school again where everyone stared at him and no one wanted to talk to him and they all stayed away from him like he was the plague or something.

Because he was different. There was no other word to describe it.

And there is no sweet, smiling boy with a loud mouth and a red crayon.

It’s just him and some textbooks and he isn’t sure why that bothers him.

He meets Liam Payne during his third week in.

And he’s the complete opposite of Niall.

With a small, shy smile that he doesn’t try to make bigger and nervous almond eyes that avoid Harry’s calm, forest green ones; and he has this sweetly soft voice that he’s too afraid to raise and tamed yet messy brown hair and a weird accent—just like Harry’s.

But he likes him anyway.

So they get closer.

And he feels all sorts of nostalgia and butterflies and melancholy and happiness when Liam speaks to him and he isn’t sure why.

But he feels those knots again.

And he remembers blue eyes.

But he brushes it off like he does everything.

++

When they’re nineteen, Niall ruins everything.

Harry’s had an entire year to fall in love with Liam.

He likes how Liam only smiles at him.

And he likes how Liam feels against him when they hug and he likes how he when he laughs, his eyes squint and look like little crescents.

He likes how Liam pouts when Harry doesn’t do the right thing—like not finishing his homework to coming back to their dorm drunk—and he like how Liam gets nervous and blushes when he flirts with him even a little bit.

And he likes how he doesn’t change.

And he likes that he cares about him.

Niall sees that.

So he does what he always does and fucks it up.

Niall kisses Liam one day.

And he does it so perfect and so slow and so passionate that Liam will never forget it.

And when Liam moans, he smirks against his lips.

Harry sees them and he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t blink, he doesn’t speak, he doesn’t breathe.

Niall pulls away and their eyes meet.

Harry thinks his eyes are darker now.

They don’t look like the lava lamp anymore.

They look murky and dark and melancholic.

But he doesn’t care anymore; Niall doesn’t matter anymore.

So he isn’t sure why he feels like crying when he drags Liam away from him without speaking a word.

Liam is confused.

Harry feels sick.

Niall’s smirk fades when he can’t see them anymore.

++

When they’re twenty, Harry goes back to Cheshire.

Mullingar makes him feel nauseous and dizzy and numb.

And Irish accents make his head hurt and the smell of Irish whiskey makes him feel so tired.

So he leaves. Just like that.

Liam says he’ll miss him and Harry says he’ll be back soon.

He’s lying but it makes Liam smile.

And that’s all that mattered.

When he goes to Cheshire, he still feels sick but he tells himself he doesn’t.

He’s home where everyone sounds the same and no one is different and everyone accepts him and he’s not a freak who needs someone stupid to make him happy.

There are no boys with chestnut hair and blue eyes and red crayons and big brothers.

No boys with golden blonde hair and grey eyes and lies and smirks and betrayal.

There’s just Harry.

So he feels perfect.

Gemma calls him and says Niall stopped by to see him.

He tells her he doesn’t care.

When he goes to sleep that night, he tells himself he’s not crying.

++

When they’re twenty-one, Harry finds out he likes to sing.

Liam knows he’s not coming back to Mullingar even if he begged and they Skype to keep in touch and Harry decides he likes that.

He can still see Niall on him but he ignores it and smiles until they both get sleepy and they can’t talk anymore.

He feels sick when the camera switches off.

Because he starts to remember everything.

And he thinks that’s when he starts humming.

They’re all old songs that he always only remembered  in the back of his mind and he feels like he should much rather be drinking or hitting something to make himself feel better.

But he knows it won’t work.

He hums himself to sleep.

He starts to feel better.

There’s a boy named Josh that works down the street at a music shop.

Harry can only remember him because he’s always yelling in across the store; either making a joke or scolding someone all the while playing songs on his guitar as if what was just a normal habit like picking at your fingernails or biting your lip.

He goes there every day and loses himself.

No one seems to mind when he starts singing along to what Josh plays.

Josh even smiles.

But Harry doesn’t like looking at it because he can see blue eyes and blonde hair again.

But nonetheless, he feels happy.

For the first time in a long time, he just feels so happy that he can actually smile and not feel like it’s fake.

Because he’s accepted.

And he has someone who cares even if they are far away.

And he has music.

He feels infinite.

He doesn’t know what happened to Niall.

Gemma stops telling him if Niall stops by or calls.

He doesn’t let himself believe it bothers him.

++

When they’re twenty-three, Harry sees him again.

And the last place he wants to see him in is Cheshire.

But nothing has ever gone his way before so why should it now?

When he walks in the music store, he can see Josh with his feet propped up on the counter and he’s tuning his guitar and talking to a boy with an uncaring tone but Harry can tell that he’s enjoying himself.

And when the boy at the counter starts laughing at something Josh mutters, Harry feels his breath clog up in his throat.

He feels like his blood has gone cold.

He feels like the ground is spinning.

He feels like he’s going to scream.

But most of all, he feels those knots again.

His eyes travel up slowly—still not quite sure if he should look or keep his head down.

But it’s too late when his eyes lock in on aqua blue ones—wide and shocked.

Harry just wants to cry then and there.

And when the boy’s rosy lips part as he begins to speak, Harry runs right out the door.

He doesn’t look back.

He doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t pay attention.

He just runs until he can’t.

He feels a sharp impact before everything goes black.

++

When his eyes open, he sees white.

And he can hear beeping and he can smell medicine and latex and  _sick_.

Everything is spinning and he feels like he’s falling and he can feel something in his skin.

He wants to move but he can’t, it hurts.

He tries to speak but it comes out as a whisper.

So he tries again.

And it’s even less audible.

He doesn’t know why he starts screaming but he does

And his throat is on fire and he’s jerking his body around now and he feels pain throughout his entire body but he doesn’t acknowledge it; he just keeps screaming.

Hands are pushing down on his chest and he can hear someone yelling at him in an Irish accent as he chokes and coughs and his voice begins to die out.

_“Calm down, Harry!”_

He says his name so familiarly.

He says it as if it’s so easy.

As if he had been there the whole time.

As if nothing happened.

Harry feels like vomiting.

He feels like screaming again.

He feels like crying.

He feels like dying.

Their eyes meet briefly and, for once split second, Harry can see his lava lamp—clumps of cerulean and baby blue swimming past each other in the warm glass and swirling around and keeping Harry fascinated for so long.

Before he can feel his stomach begin to twist and turn and it all turned back into a gloomy grey.

He whispers what he says but it’s said loud enough for Niall to hear.

_“Fuck you.”_

Niall doesn’t even look mildly surprised.

He doesn’t look uncaring either.

He stays until the nurses tell him to leave.

When the door clicks, Harry stays deathly still until a sob rips from his throat and his whole body begins to shake.

_“Fuck you.”_

++

Niall visits the hospital every day.

Harry doesn’t know why.

But he doesn’t ask; just sits quietly and listens to Niall talk.

And it felt like they were kids again; when Niall would jump around and wave his arms and tell Harry about stupid things he saw on TV or read in small fairytale books.

And Harry listened and hung on every word.

Because he was Niall. And if he said it, it must’ve been true.

Except he doesn’t feel happy now, only depressed and angry.

Something he had ignored for so many years.

_“Greg asks about you sometimes. I think Gemma really misses you, same with Liam. Not that I talk to him or anything, he’s just always hanging around your place when I go over there...”_

Harry wants to sneer if Niall gave him a kiss while he was there; did he touch him; did he fuck him; did he smirk when he did.

But he can’t; something stops him.

Niall goes quiet.

Harry glances at him.

_“I know you still hate me…and I can’t say I’m sorry for what I did…because I know you’d still hate me. And I deserve it…I guess…I don’t know…”_

Harry is slightly shocked and before he can reply, Niall stands up and leans over.

His lips are soft but slightly chapped when they press against Harry’s.

And when Harry’s stomach turns to butterflies, he thinks about when they were ten and Niall did it the first time and how dazed and lost he was—how he didn’t understand what it was and how he wanted to do it again.

He can taste bitterness and melancholy on his lips.

He isn’t sure when his eyes had fluttered close.

But when they open again, Niall’s gone.

He doesn’t cry that night.

++

When they let Harry out of the hospital, he still doesn’t forgive Niall.

He still feels confused and hurt.

And he still believes that he’s in love with Liam.

And he still doesn’t want to go back to Mullingar.

And he still feels knots in his stomach when he thinks of Niall.

So his first steps out are steady ones.

Niall is waiting on the bench with his head down and he doesn’t see Harry until his worn-out gym shoes appear in front of him and he can feel something wet drip onto his arm.

He looks up slow and he feels like hurting himself.

Getting hit by a car like Harry did.

Or getting beat up by some thugs.

Or getting shot.

But he knew none of it would make up for anything as more tears streams down Harry’s face.

They’re both silent as Harry leans down.

_“I hate you.”_

Niall knows.

_“You ruined everything.”_

Niall knows.

_“And you came to fuck it up some more. Why?”_

Niall can’t reply since Harry’s lips crash against his and doesn’t give him the chance to.

And they can taste every single thing in this kiss.

Every smile; every laugh; every scream and curse; every betrayal; every promise; every night they regretted meeting each other; every time they wished they were together.

Harry’s hands are shaky as they tangle in Niall’s new, longer messy blonde hair and Niall’s hands bruise where they grip the skin underneath Harry’s shirt.

It ends all too soon and Niall finds himself holding on tighter.

They stare for a moment before Harry speaks.

_“This will take forever.”_

_“I know.”_

Niall can see that the look in Harry’s eyes mean he still doesn’t trust him; he’s still angry; and that kiss didn’t mean ‘I forgive you for ruining my life’.

But maybe it was a start.

Their fingers intertwine and Harry remembers chestnut hair and red crayons.

_+++_

_Everyday feels like a Monday,_

_There is, no escaping from the heartache,_

_Now I, gotta put it back together,_

_'Coz it's, always better late than never._

_+++_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I slightly like this one more than the other craps.


End file.
